


Lure

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Can't Help It, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's been fighting how much he wants Cas for an age now. It's getting harder and harder not to give in, not to reach out. So what happens when he does?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lure

This might be the most difficult problem Dean has ever faced.

 

When he's with Cas, he wants to run far, far away, but it's only because being with him isn't even being close enough to him.

 

When he's not with Cas, he can't switch off from thinking about him; Cas is on his mind to the point where there is no separating any decision, or passing thought, from somehow bringing it all back to Cas.

 

It's debilitating. Frustrating. And terrifying, because when he's never really allowed himself to let someone in completely, and knowing that that is exactly what he wants, he needs, to do with Cas, he feels so open, and raw.

 

He's been fighting against this for so long, it's become second nature for him to be in a state of constant denial. Even though he hates himself for it. Even when it's obvious to the world what he's thinking. Even if he's not sure if it's obvious to Cas.

 

Cas is standing before him now, still as any statue he's ever seen. But instead of cold, lifeless marble, Cas is heat, and fire; at least that is the impression he gives to Dean.

 

Dean has a compulsion for Cas. He's still fighting against it, balling his fists up and practically sitting on them to keep them from moving, but he doesn't know how long he can hold on.

 

He's been doing this for what feels like years, and maybe it really is that long. Everything has become a blur of denial for him.

 

They are arguing. They are always arguing about something. But Dean knows full well he'd argue the sky was green just to conflict with Cas, because if he's arguing with Cas, at least Cas is here, and with him. And Dean has tried every subtle and not so subtle trick in the book to do just that, keep Cas close to him, as much as he can.

 

Cas must have noticed, surely.

 

The thing is, Dean can't even really be sure why he's fighting this.

 

Sure. It's scary, and it's new. But it's scary and new in ways that could be good, if he'd just allow it to happen. He's just never let himself give in to it before, and that fact right there is potentially the most terrifying of them all.

 

Cas makes him weak like that.

 

“I don't know what to tell you,” he starts with; he'd called Cas, asked him to drop by, said he had things to tell him. He even rehearsed all of the things he wanted to say. He thought he was finally being brave, but now he's there with him Cas has rendered him mute. And Cas is mute, saying nothing, simply staring down at him expectantly.

 

Cas doesn't move at all when he hears Dean's words.

 

Dean looks at him. He takes in his hair, jutting up at all angles. Those blue eyes that he sees behind his eyelids whether Cas is there with him or not. The trenchcoat over a suit jacket, and the flat, white plain of his shirt that Dean's eyes have travelled down and wondered about so many times he notices the slightest difference in its appearance. Often, when Cas' shirt has rucked up, for whatever reason, and there's the smallest flash of skin, Dean's eyes zoom in, and he can't drag them away.

 

Cas still doesn't move, not even under Dean's blatant gaze.

 

“Cas,” Dean tries again. What's he supposed to say? “Cas...”

 

Dean's fought all sorts of demons, both literal and emotional. He's battled his way back from death,  been in so many fights that he's long lost count. But this fight, here with Cas, that Cas isn't even aware that he's having? He really doesn't know how he's going to get through it.

 

“Cas,” and his voice croaks, and without any conscious effort, he's standing, about two feet away from him, facing him square on. “I can't. I don't think I can do this any more.”

 

“I don't know what you are referring to, Dean.” Even the tone of Cas' voice calls to Dean, and in that moment, it seems rougher, more gravelly, exactly at the pitch that makes Dean's mouth dry out.

 

“Cas,” he pleads, finding he's taken a step forward, closing up the gap. He can see Cas' chest rising and falling a little more rapidly than usual and his heart speeds up in response. “You _do_. You _know_ ,”

 

Cas' face ripples with a mix of emotions that Dean can't quite get a hold on. “No,” he says, but it doesn't sound like the truth.

 

“Don't make me say it,” Dean whispers, taking another step until there's barely a space between their chests. He continues to flex and unflex his fingers at his sides, willing them to stay there when all they want to do is reach out. “Please... _please_ , Cas. Don't make me say it,”

 

“Dean,”

 

And the final wall is down.

 

Dean is on him. His hands raise up, cupping Cas' face and pulling it up to his, and Dean claims his mouth in a kiss that is tortured, and territorial. His lips are hard, and demanding, and he breathes out the longest of sighs of relief that he's finally, _finally_ doing this. What makes it even better is that Cas is so responsive, kissing him right back.

 

There is nothing gentle in this kiss, with both of them desperately trying to take as much of the other as they can. Cas' fingers grip hard through Dean's hair, pulling him down to him as Dean does the same back.

 

When Cas flicks his tongue against Dean's, it is all Dean can do to hold on, and keep upright. He groans, loud, and low, taking a physically impossible step forward so that he is pressing fully up against Cas, who seems to be doing the same back.

 

Dean's hands drop, fingers curling roughly into Cas' hips as though he can pull him even closer; he tries, god, how he tries.

 

Their tongues tangle, darting in and out of each other's mouths and sliding messily against each other, meeting halfway. There's teeth, and slipping, and biting, both of them ravenous for something they've clearly both been wanting for so long.

 

Cas' fingers continue pressing into Dean's skull, and Dean whines his appreciation, digging his fingers into Cas' side himself. His hands move round to grip Cas' ass, and he frustratedly pushes them underneath the trenchcoat to get a firm grip, grinding himself up against him and feeling Cas stutter a rasping breath beneath his lips before kissing him back somehow harder.

 

Dean's squeezing, and running his hands up Cas' back underneath both jackets, and pretty soon he finds himself roughly shoving both of them up, and off. He spreads his hands wide, touching as much of Cas through his shirt as he can, closing his eyes at the way Cas moans in what is clearly enjoyment.

 

They pull back long enough to breath harshly, stare wide eyed at each other, green on blue.

 

“I _want_ you,” Dean manages to rasp out, and before giving Cas time to respond, claiming his mouth once again. Cas just chases down his tongue, sucking it roughly into his own mouth, and his own hands running roughly down Dean's back and into the pockets of his jeans.

 

They can't stop themselves. They grind up against one another as they kiss, fingers gripping hard as if they are frightened to let go. Eyes closed because it's just too much to look right now, not with all that they're feeling.

 

Dean's pulling up Cas' shirt, freeing it from his pants, and saying, “I need to _feel_ you, Cas.”

 

Cas keeps kissing him back, but drops his hand and starts to unbuckle his belt. Dean bats his hand away roughly and wrenches the shirt completely free, using both hands to frantically unbutton it and pushing it off his shoulders with such force he hears the fabric creak at his touch.

 

And then he's on him. His hands can't get enough of Cas' skin; covering as much as he can at any one time with his palms, roving them up his back reverently before sliding them round to push up the length of his chest. Dean moans when he feels Cas' nipple rucking up against his palms, and presses down hard.

 

Dean's hands move up to Cas' shoulders, gently working their way down the curve of each to lightly grip around his arms, down to his elbows, forearms, wrists, before briefly slipping his fingers into Cas' and holding them there. And then they're up again, one hand firmly pressing against Cas' ass and the other travelling up and down his back.

 

“I need to feel _you_ , Dean,” Cas gasps out, and his hands go straight for Dean's zipper, pulling it down roughly and then forcing down both his jeans and boxers to mid thigh. He groans, loud, at the feel of Dean springing free and his hand is immediately on him, rubbing his palm over Dean's head and using the wetness there to slick him down.

 

Dean's breath catches in his throat and his eyes roll back in his head, his tongue continuing its assault on Cas in a kind of reverent thank you for the feel of Cas' touch. His fingers move too, trembling before Cas' zip before diving right in and mirroring Cas' actions.

 

And Cas is moaning against him, fighting back with his tongue as Dean strokes him firmly, rubbing his thumb over his head and cursing at the wetness he finds there.

 

It's both not enough and too much at once, and Dean presses on Cas' hip, hooking his thumb around his own shaft and reaching out his fingers around Cas', bringing them flush together in his hand. They groan in response to the feeling of their cocks on each other, and Cas laces his fingers in between Dean's, with the kiss somehow becoming even dirtier.

 

They aren't gentle with themselves here either; just as desperate and frantic, stroking and gripping hard with a ferocity that speaks of just how long they've both been wanting and needing this, and denying themselves.

 

And then they're coming, messy, hot, and hard, groaning each other's names and falling against one another for support.

 

Their breathing calms, and their kiss is now softer, still exploring but with a less desperate pace. When they finally stop, despite the mess between them Dean wraps his arms around Cas and crushes him against his chest, sighing when he feels Cas' arms grip around him.

 

Dean leans his forehead against Cas', unable to resist leaning down for another kiss, and maybe another, and Cas is just as eager.

 

“I can't stop this, Cas,” Dean whispers, daring to sneak a look at him.

 

“Do you want to?” is Cas' reply, and Dean thinks about that. No. It's pretty obvious that no way on this earth does he not want this to happen again, and more. And there's really no good reason to pretend otherwise. But. But what if he messes up again? What if-

 

And he cuts himself off by kissing Cas again, which seems to be the most effective way of shutting himself up that he's ever tried.

 

“No. I don't. I _can't_. And I don't know what to do about this,” he says, fear in his voice.

 

“Perhaps we have both been making this more complicated than it needed to be,” Cas wonders aloud, and Dean finds himself nodding in agreement.

 

“I don't know what comes next, Cas,” he warns, softening the warning with a kiss; now he's started kissing Cas he doesn't know how he's ever going to stop. He feels Cas shrug.

 

“I am sure we will continue to complicate matters. But I hope that this,” and he presses a firm, hard kiss into Dean's neck that turns into a bite that in turn makes Dean whimper, “that this continues anyway.”

 

“You think I can stop myself now, Cas?” Dean laughs, mostly at himself. “I don't know what comes next, Cas. But I know I can't stop this. Been fighting it too long,”

 

“As have I,” Cas agrees, working a trail of kisses up Dean's neck and kissing him lightly on the lips, before licking his way back in. Dean moans softly, wrapping his arms around him a little tighter.

 

“We'll figure it out,” are his final words, before he loses himself to Cas all over again.

 


End file.
